"Suppose We get back to Krynn and find that years have passed?"

He almost laughed at the idea, but stopped himself.

Sturm couldn't prove that years hadn't elapsed while they were On the red moon.

"There are so many Old tales about humans who Went Off to elf realms and returned in What they thought were a few months to find their children grown and their friends dead

Of Old age," Kitiara said. Sturm thought She was just musing

Over possibilities, but then he realized that she Was seriously concerned.

"What are you afraid of, Kit?" he asked gently.

"The five-year reunion. It's important that I not miss it."

"And Tanis?"

"Yes."

"Do you intend to go back to him?"

Kitiara shifted uncomfortably. "No, that's not it. We didn't part on the best of terms, and I want to patch things up, before -" She started to say Something but stopped.

"Before what?" Sturm prompted.

"Before I begin my travels with Cupelix."

So, she was Owning up to it. "Are you giving up trying to find your father and his people?"

"My father always said his family had disowned him and his forever," she said. "Much as I'd love to ride up to their front door and spit in their faces, partnership With a dragon promises to be more exciting." She Shrugged. "I say, to the

Abyss with the Uth Matars."

The quiet interval grew long, and Sturm felt his eyelids droop With Sleep. He was about to nod Off When Kitiara said, "Sturm, if you see Tanis before I do, will you tell him

I'm sorry, and that he Was right?" Sturm was too much Of a gentleman to inquire What she had to be sorry about. He promised upon his honor as a Brightblade to bear her mes sage back to Tanis Half-Elven.

Chapter 29

The Obelisk Falls

The dragon cal1ed to them, rousing them from their slumber. The gnomes bounced up, eager to be about their business. Sturm rubbed his eyes and looked about. Kitiara was not in sight.

He stretched and hunted around for a drink of water. As he was gulping a cool drink, Kitiara appeared. She tossed aside a handsaw and said, "What's the beast yelling about? I couldn't quite make it out."

"He wants us to get on with the demolition," said Sturm.

"Fine. I'm ready."

All the glass and porcelain jars and cups they had were to be used to pour vitriol on the lead mortar seams. The gnomes lined up like soldiers, mugs and cream pitchers in hand like swords. Kitiara gave them a mocking salute and told them to bide their time.

Inside, Cupelix was nervously hopping from one massive leg to the other. "All my books and manuscripts are safe," he said. "The Micones have transferred everything to a safe place in the cave." There was no longer reason to delay.

Cupelix put his three-toed feet into the hole and curled his tail up close to his chest. It would be a tight fit.

"Get your wings in," Sturm said. "Closer. That's it."

"Good thing I am a svelte example of my race," Cupelix said. His massive body was in the hole. Only his head showed inside the obelisk.

"I believe I shall miss this place," he said.

"Go on!" Kitiara shouted. Cupelix's head disappeared. He fell forty feet before getting his wings open. He hit the cavern floor with enough force to rock the tower on its foundations, but to the dragon it was a minor tumble. He telepathed his good health and told the mortals to proceed.

"Cupelix is safely in the cavern," Sturm said to Stutts when they were outside.

Stutts put two fingers to his mouth and blew a shrieking whistle. "Begin pouring!" he cried.

The gnomes, spaced around the three sides of the obelisk, applied vitriol to the lead. Wisps of noxious vapor coiled off the walls, choking all the gnomes but Roperig and Fitter, who had invented Caustic Smoke Filters for Noses and

Mouths (Mark II). Keen observers would have recognized the filters as being made of old bandannas and suspenders.

"Right! Now clear off the top level and pour on the sec ond!" Stutts called. Convenient beakers of vitriol were posi tioned on the lower platforms of the scaffold.

Flash climbed down the spindly collection of poles and planks. He swung to the second level and promptly kicked over his beaker. Oil of vitriol streamed down the scaffold, eating away the wood and rope lashing with as much vigor as it consumed the lead.

"Look out!" said Sturm. The poles under Flash sagged and came apart. The gnome wavered back and forth on his toes and toppled from the planking.

Kitiara gauged his fall and stepped below him. She held up her arms and caught the plummeting gnome.

"Thank you so much," he said.

"Certainly," she asked.

The walls of the obelisk steamed with vitriol vapor.

Streaks of black showed on the flawless red marble where the liquified lead ran down. The corrosive fluid ate into the joints between the courses of stone with alacrity, and half an hour after starting, the gnomes were down to the fourth level of their scaffold.

"It looks like it's weeping," Sturm observed of the struc ture. "But I don't think it's suffering much damage."

"The effect should be cumulative," said Stutts. "Without the lead support, each course will sag under the weight of the upper blocks. By the time we get down to ground level, the whole structure may be leaning as much as three feet out of plumb. The remaining fourth wall cannot support such an imbalance, and the obelisk will collapse."

The wine-purple sky segued into claret red. Sturm frowned. "Sunrise," he said. 'Will the discharges affect the process?"

"How can they not?" Kitiara replied. "They may bring the whole thing down on our heads." She went to the foot of the scaffold and yelled, "Get a move on! Dawn is coming!"

There were accidents, gnomes being gnomes, with the imminent sunrise pressing on them. Vitriol burns, falls, and sprained ankles multiplied. The stars faded from view as the heavens changed from claret to rose. The usual streak of meteors ricocheted from one horizon to another, and the intense stillness was broken by a stirring in the air that Kiti ara felt, though Sturm could not.

"Hurry!"

The gnomes tumbled off the scaffold like mice from a burning building. The platform groaned and curled up wherever the vitriol dropped on it, and the lower third of the obelisk was coated with sickly gray steam.

"Run!" Sturm said. "Run as far and as fast as you can!"

He grabbed Cutwood, who was slow, and dragged him off his feet. Kitiara scooped up Roperig and Flash, the last ones off the scaffold. And they ran, past the point at which they'd left Cloudmaster, on the unscarred side of the tower, as far as where the valley began to rise in elevation. A hor rendous grinding noise filled the valley, overpowering even the first crackle of the morning discharge.

From under Kitiara's arm, Flash twisted around to see.

"The blocks are giving way!" he cheered.

The grinding sound arrested their mad flight. Everyone stopped, turned, and stared.

Bolts of blue lightning sizzled from the obelisk's peak, not to the distant cliffs that defined the valley, but into the dry red soil a hundred yards from the monument's base. The obelisk leaned appreciably, and whole courses of stained marble tumbled to the ground. It seemed for a moment that the tower might withstand the loss of those blocks, but the weight of the upper reaches was too much for the under mined base. The five-hundred-foot obelisk slowly, grace fully, leaned over. Stones shattered under the unbearable pressure. The top broke apart in midfall, the stones separat ing with the tumult of a hundred thunderstorms"."Blocks twelve feet long, six feet high, and three feet thick hurtled to the ground, gouging out deep craters in the soft turf. The obelisk lay down like a falling tree, pieces weighing several tons bounced off each other, breaking, crushing, and com ing to rest at last, as though too tired to leap any farther.